I cannot say that I had a rough childhood. I had great parents, wonderful friends and many chances for character-building experiences. The only thing I would have changed is that premium cars were never our forte. My family always had very functional vehicles. In fact, the first time my backside was ever graced with leather was on my last day of high school. My friend’s dad lent him the Lexus so we could go to the bar. Although I was only in the lap of luxury for such a short time, I was much too drunk to know what was going on. It was really only a couple of days ago that I had a proper, and sober, luxurious experience. I was given the chance to drive a 500hp $100,000 Mercedes AMG.
Right off the bat the best thing about this car is not the speed which there is plenty of, or the handling which seems nice, or the interior, which is black leather. The crown jewel of this car is the de-pressurization of the doors. When you open the doors there is a wonderful hissing sound that lets all of the trapped air out of the car, and when you close the door, it self-adjusts to get that perfect seal. I do not know or care why this features is on the car but I want it on mine!
After you get past the awesome doors you are greeted with, I don’t know how else to put this, a black leather interior with the same type of plastic-made-to-look-like-wood that you would find in an Acura TSX. It is not ugly, or cheap, there are plenty of buttons to press, and there is a little screen beside the speedometer to tell you what a great car you are in but, well, it just makes me scratch my head. Why would you pay $100,000 for a car that has an interior that is not hugely better then a $30,000 Acura? It really perplexes me. Yes the AMG is quite pretty, and yes the interior is nice but I could save $70,000, buy the Acura and still have money to buy a nice leather sofa made with real wood accents. I was contemplating what type of sofa I should get right up until I hit the skinny petal on the right.
If I may liken the acceleration in most fast modified cars to your friends tackling you in a game of football, brutal with no forgiveness. The AMG is more like your girl friend throwing you down for a night of wild lovemaking. It’s a beautiful and passionate even though you are still thrown on your back. When I tromped on the gas pedal I could not believe how fast and, yet, how refined this car was. I was on the exciting side of 100 km before I looked down at the speedometer and realized I could be thrown in jail for such speeds. It whisked me any so smoothly and quickly that if I was not paying attention I would of easily won a two-night accommodation to the police station!
Unfortunately, I did not take the AMG to my secret track. I would have felt awful if the car slid into a curb. Also the owner of the car was a young Russian, now I do not know about you, but to me young Russian and wrecked AMG equate to a nice new set of cement shoes. That being said I did take it around some corners and to be honest I could not really tell you what happened. I picture the handling in the car to what it must be like to loose your virginity to a 40 year old Cougar. It is over in a whirlwind of confusion, and the only thing you know is that you really did not do anything. This car turned in to the corner and I could not tell you if I hit an apex or if I made a complete hash of it. But all I know is that the car did all of the work, I just kind of pointed it in the right direction.
And oddly enough it was the cars party piece, the handling, which is really my biggest problem. I never once got a sense that the car needed me, that I was an important part of the driving equation. I felt distant and unimportant. This might just be my inferiority complex coming through but the whole time it felt like the car could drive itself better then I could drive it. Which as a driver in search of the ultimate drive experience came up short. Yes it is quick, and yes it handled but I just felt so distance from the car that I was left with no feeling of danger. Really driving the car is no different the driving very quickly in an isolation chamber.
But, and this is a big rounded BUT, you do not buy a Merc to be amazed by the handling, or race every where as if your pants where on fire. You buy a Merc because you do not want to drive, you want to be wrapped in the most luxurious isolation chamber known to man. So you can keep your mind on more important things… like stocks or how to keep your mistress secret from your wife. And under that logic this is a perfect car. But as for me I am going to go boost the living hell out of my RX7 with my hands griping the steering wheel in a death grip!